


Wherefore Art Thou Little Bastard?

by the_one_that_fell



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: A stray cat mooches off of Anya, terrorizes Dmitry, and manages to bring the two of them together in an unlikely way.





	Wherefore Art Thou Little Bastard?

**Author's Note:**

> CW: alcohol use, swearing, food mentions, violence mentions (self-defense), smoking

The first time the cat appeared on Dmitry’s fire escape, he paid it no mind. 

Stray cats weren’t uncommon here and Dmitry had lived on the streets long enough to know not to feed them. So he went about his business, eating beans straight from the can, and ignored the cat’s pitiful, muffled mews.

The second time, Dmitry shooed the cat away so he could smoke on the fire escape in private. It flashed its stubborn, amber eyes at Dmitry and swiped the cigarette from his fingers before leaping off into the night. 

(“You little bastard!” He had screamed at the cat’s retreating form. “That was my last one!” 

This outburst had earned him the scolding of his elderly next door neighbor, Mr. Ipolitov, and the burning glare of the girl two doors down.)

The third time, Vlad sabotaged Dmitry by letting the cat into his  _ goddamn apartment _ . 

“It’s cold out,” he’d whined, vodka painting his face an absurd pink. “The poor thing is freezing.” 

“It’s winter,” Dmitry snapped. “Of course it’s cold out. Little Bastard has been doing just fine, he doesn’t- oh, for fuck’s sake, Vlad.” 

As sad as it sounded, the box of piroshkis on the kitchen counter had been a small treat Dmitry had looked forward to all week and now Vlad was feeding bits of one to Little Bastard. If he had just a little more alcohol in his system, Dmitry might have cried. 

“Ah, little one, let’s get you a drink,” Vlad said, scratching behind the cat’s ears with the same sort of fondness he bestowed upon every stray he picked up—Dmitry included. “Dima, do you have any cream?”

“Vlad, do I look like someone who buys cream?” Dmitry asked, running a hand through his hair in frustration. It had gotten long again, to the point where Lily threatened to cut it herself with gardening shears. “Give it water and then  _ make it go away _ .” 

But Vlad was already pouring water into the only clean bowl in Dmitry’s cupboard, cooing as Little Bastard lapped at it gratefully. “Don’t listen to the mean child, little one, he’s just angry because he’s no longer the most handsome man in the room.” 

“I’ll kick  _ you _ out, too, Vlad,” Dmitry threatened. “Don’t think I won’t.” 

“If you kick me out, you’ll have no one to drink with,” Vlad countered easily, petting Little Bastard’s head with one fat finger. “And the only thing sadder than spending your evening drunk with an old man like me is spending your evening drunk and  _ alone _ .” 

“Fuck off,” Dmitry said, but there was no real heat behind it. Vlad had a point. 

“Now,” Vlad continued, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see what tricks our new friend can do.” 

Dmitry sighed and rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle as he prepared for a long, long night. 

 

* * *

 

The first time the cat appeared on Anya’s fire escape, she had a saucer of milk set out for it in a matter of minutes. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured as it drank greedily. “How long have you been on your own?” 

The cat, of course, did not respond, but Anya nodded and hummed as if it had. 

“Me, too,” she said, leaning her elbow against the windowsill. It was far too cold to keep the window open much longer, but Anya hadn’t talked to anyone but the other janitors at work in ages—other than the cop who’d asked her to tea last week, but she’d turned him down and now look at where she was, all alone and talking to a cat. “Been on my own for ten years. Maybe longer, but I can’t remember that far back. Amnesia,” she continued, as if the cat understood or cared. 

The wind blew colder outside the building, wafting the thick scent of cigarette smoke from the neighbor boy’s perch to Anya’s window. She wrinkled her nose and glared at him, though he seemed not to notice. 

“Oh!” Anya looked down to see the milk was gone. “Done already?”

The cat stretched once, arching its back gracefully, then leapt down the stairs of the fire escape, skulking off into the shadows of the evening. Anya sighed, watching it go. If she left the window open for another hour in hopes of the cat’s return, no one but her freezing toes had to know. 

 

* * *

 

“I think I know whose cat Bastard is.” 

Vlad looked up from the counterfeit passports he’d been forging, eyes crossed from the meticulous work. The cat in question was curled on his lap, sleeping soundly. “Oh, do you now?” 

“I saw the weird girl two doors down talking to him the other night,” Dmitry said, counting out bills from the day’s sales. 

“The one who called the cops on you when you turned her down?” Vlad asked, looking back down at his work. “Or the one who tried to sell you her ex’s clothes?” 

“Neither,” Dmitry sighed. “The one who hit me with a broom when I startled her. Anya, I think.”

“And broke your nose!” Vlad remembered with joy. Little Bastard awoke at the sound and crankily slid from Vlad’s lap, relocating to the radiator. “I like her.” 

“You don’t know her,” Dmitry snapped. 

Vlad shrugged. “She hit you with a broom and has a lovely cat. I like her.” 

“Whatever.” Dmitry leaned back in his chair and tossed Vlad his cut of the day’s profits. “She’s clearly a bad cat owner. Bastard practically lives here now.” 

“Nonsense. The boy is just a free spirit, he goes where he pleases.” Vlad glanced over at the radiator, grinning stupidly. “Isn’t that right, котик?” 

But Little Bastard was already slipping out the window, left cracked open by Dmitry in an attempt to encourage the freeloading fleabag to leave. Vlad’s smile fell and he returned to the passports quiet and subdued. And for some unknown, God-forsaken reason, Dmitry felt guilty.

Despite the cold and the snow, he left the window cracked for the rest of the night, but Little Bastard didn’t come back. 

 

* * *

 

“I think I’ll call you Romeo,” Anya declared when the cat returned to her fire escape, mewling loudly to be let in. “Calling to me from outside my bedroom. How romantic.” 

Romeo brushed against her calves as she prepared him a dish of leftover chicken, eating with a fervor that made Anya laugh. “That jerky owner of yours must not feed you well at all. Unsurprising for a guy who lurks in shadowy stairwells, waiting to scare innocent women!” Anya’s face warmed at the memory, both in embarrassment and irritation. If that Dmitry would stop skulking around in his long, black coat with his illegal wares and stupidly, attractively floppy hair- that is, if he’d stop trying to look like some slick mobster, maybe Anya wouldn’t have  _ hit him  _ with the  _ broom _ she’d just been  _ borrowing _ from Mrs. Yusupov downstairs.

“I suppose I should take you back to him,” Anya said as Romeo finished the chicken. “I don’t want to, but I should.” 

As if on cue, Romeo hopped up onto the windowsill, waiting patiently for Anya to open the window for him. She frowned, feeling a bit used, but let him outside nonetheless, heart aching as he walked the railing over to his owner’s place. Determined not to let a stupid cat ruin her mood, Anya shut the window again and snatched up her battered copy of _Jane Eyre_ , already comforted by the familiarity of its weight in her hand, even if fictional characters couldn't quite quell the loneliness in her heart. 

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Little Bastard broke Dmitry’s favorite (read: only) lamp that Dmitry decided to end their odd dalliance once and for all. Without Vlad hanging around to stop him, Dmitry grabbed Bastard by the scruff of his neck and marched down the hall, using his free hand to pound angrily on the weird girl’s door. 

The girl—Anya—opened after the second knock and visibly started at the sight of him. Then she scowled, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What?” She asked, not bothering with pleasantries. 

“Control your cat,” Dmitry demanded, shoving Bastard into her arms. “He’s always trying to get into my place, eating my food, breaking my things-”

“What are you talking about?” Anya asked, holding Little Bastard close to her. 

“Your cat’s a fucking menace,” Dmitry snapped. “Keep him in a cage if you have to.” 

“He’s not  _ my _ cat,” Anya said slowly, as if talking to a young child. “He’s  _ yours _ .” 

“What?” Dmitry reeled backward. “No, he’s  _ yours _ .” 

Anya laughed harshly. “I think I’d know if I owned a cat, pal. Romeo visits me every now and then but he’s not  _ mine _ .”

“Oh.” The silence between them was uncomfortably awkward. “Well, he’s not mine, either.” 

The corner of Anya’s lips quirked upward. “So he’s no one’s. Or he’s  _ ours _ .” 

Though he’d deny it until his dying day, Dmitry blushed at the implication. “Woah, buy a guy a drink first. We haven’t even gone on a date and we already got a kid together?” 

Anya laughed, high and sweet, and Dmitry felt his annoyance fade. “So if we go on a date, you’ll share custody of Romeo with me?” 

“Please, you can  _ keep _ Li- Romeo,” Dmitry said, looking down at his mud-stained boots. “But, uh. I wouldn’t be opposed to that date.”  

“Good.” Anya’s eyes widened at her own response. “I mean-” She cleared her throat, visibly standing up taller. “Dinner tomorrow. The cafe down the block.”

Dmitry smiled, wide and bright, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“I look forward to it,” Anya said, eyes not leaving Dmitry’s even as Romeo nuzzled up under her chin. 

“Good,” Dmitry parroted, earning him a light swat on the arm and a very unimpressed meow. Somehow, if possible, he grinned even wider.

 

* * *

 

Not too long after that day, Dmitry would wake up in a strange bed, arms wrapped around a beautiful woman, with an obnoxious, stubborn cat begging for breakfast. And he would only smile, knowing full well that this was how he wanted to wake up every day for the rest of his life. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed the fluffy garbage, i'm alphacrone on tumblr. not involved in this fandom much but enjoying the bits i've seen :)


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